ietly. "Still, I have got three months to look about me, and I
don't suppose we shall starve."

Miss Hartley expressed the wish--as old as woman--to give the offender a
piece of her mind. She also indulged in a few general remarks concerning
the obtuseness of people who were unable to see when they were not
wanted, by which her father understood her to refer to Vyner junior.

"I was afraid you cared for him," he said, awkwardly.

"I?" exclaimed Joan, in the voice of one unable to believe her ears.
"Oh, father, I am surprised at you; I never thought you would say such a
thing."

Mr. Hartley eyed her uneasily.

"Why should you think anything so absurd?" continued his daughter, with
some severity.

Mr. Hartley, with much concern, began to cite a long list of things
responsible for what he freely admitted was an unfortunate mistake on
his part. His daughter listened with growing impatience and confusion,
and, as he showed no signs of nearing the end, rose in a dignified
fashion and quitted the room. She was back, however, in a minute or two,
and, putting her arm on his shoulder, bent down and kissed him.

"I had no idea you were so observant," she remarked, softly.

"I don't think I am really," said the conscientious man. "If it hadn't
been for Trimblett--"

Miss Hartley, interrupting with spirit, paid a tribute to the captain
that ought to have made his ears burn.

"I ought to have been more careful all these years," said her father
presently. "If I had, this would not have mattered so much. Prodigality
never pays--"

Joan placed her arm about his neck again. "Prodigality!" she said, with
a choking laugh. "You don't know the meaning of the word. And you have
had to help other people all your life. After all, perhaps you and
Captain Trimblett are wrong; Mr. Vyner can't be in earnest, it is too
absurd."

"Yes, he is," said Hartley, sitting up, with a sudden air of
determination. "But then, so am I. I am not going to be dictated to in
this fashion. My private affairs are nothing to do with him. I--I shall
have to tell him so."

"Don't do anything yet," said Joan, softly, as she resumed her seat.
"By the way--"

"Well?" said her father, after a pause.

"That invitation from Uncle William was your doing," continued Joan,
levelling an incriminating finger at him.

"Trimblett's idea," said her father, anxious to give credit where it was
due. "His idea was that if you were to go away for a time Robert Vyner
w